9. Nikola
NIKOLA
T he moment Skye flew back home to Italy, I took my own plane back to New Orleans.
The last several weeks since the incident at Revelation were passed in a constant state of arousal. I finally understood the meaning of blue balls, but unfortunately my dick refused to work for any other girl. It zeroed in on Skye, demanding her soft body and her stubborn mouth.
If only that useless organ would cooperate with my reason, life would be easier.
I wanted the best for Skye, and involving her in this life and the mafia wasn’t it. I had no doubt that she’d find some sweet, normal boy who would give her a nice, comfortable life away from the mafia world.
The thought of Skye with anyone else made me literally sick to my stomach. I didn’t know how I would possibly let her go and do the right thing. Loving her and letting her go seemed impossible, yet I knew that both had to be done.
Hence why I did the only other thing I knew I was good at.
I wreaked havoc on this earth while searching high and low for the identities of both The Duchess and the woman who hurt my Skye when she was a little innocent girl without the Nikolaevs and her family to protect her.
I had more than ample time since I was delaying turning in my thesis, but I made a promise to Uncle Sasha to keep Skye safe while in college and I intended to keep that promise.
For more than one reason.
Skye’s safety and happiness were my top priority. I’d learned over the years that her pain was my pain and her distress was my distress. Maybe she couldn’t be mine, but I sure as fuck would ensure she walked—no, danced through life exhilarated.
I sat in my father’s office in New Orleans, digging into Revelation’s archives despite the assurance by Maxim Baldwin that the woman wasn’t a member. I had to turn over every stone while trying to uncover the true identity of the mysterious Duchess and any threat to Skye.
The fact that The Duchess knew Skye would be there told me someone was playing chess and monitoring her movements.
Hence why it was important I scanned through anyone and everyone who was there that night. Plus, I was fairly certain Maxim Baldwin was hiding something. Or someone.
I found records of all its members, and the closest I’d gotten to any member with a title was the Duke of Glasgow.
The man was dead, but I knew him due to his connection to Skye’s mother.
He was one of the long list of Mrs. Phoenix Leone’s step-grandfathers, deceased and gone.
Skye had never met him nor her great-grandmother Diana Bergman, the great actress of her time, who outlived all her husbands.
The coincidence was suspect, but when I dug deeper, it turned out that the duke and Diana had been members of the original club for decades, so it seemed the connection was just that—a coincidence. There was another guest member to the duke that night at Revelation that set me on edge.
Enzo Marchetti.
However, it seemed he was too preoccupied with someone else to even notice Skye.
It really turned out everyone who was anyone belonged to the exclusive club. How I’d never heard of it before I caught the girls sneaking into it was beyond me.
The deviant shit that went on in that club was enough to unseat quite a few politicians, but I wasn’t interested in blackmail today, and the information I needed wasn’t there.
The door barged open and my sister appeared. We always thought Aunt Tatiana was the biggest prima donna, but Marietta superseded her tenfold.
Loungewear for my baby sister consisted of the finest Dior, Armani, Gucci, Prada, Burberry, or Hermès garments. Honestly, it was disturbing that I even knew those names. Recognized them too. A hazard of being related to fashion-obsessed women.
“Jesus, Marietta, don’t you know how to knock?” Yes, it was technically our father’s office, but I used it just as much.
“I do, but why should I when it’s my house too?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not your office.”
“Yours either.” She strode inside, her emerald-green Armani dress dragging behind her.
“Yet.” I leaned back in the chair. “Is there a reason you’re here other than to annoy me?”
She took a seat across the desk, crossing her legs. “What are you doing?”
Tension crowded my shoulders as I returned my attention to the task at hand. “I’m trying to learn the identity of a club member.”
“Our club?”
“No.”
“Did you try torturing the club owner? That usually works.”
I narrowed my eyes on her. “What do you know about torture?”
“Nothing.” Her eyes met mine and I thought I saw something in them, but it was gone too fast. “Skye messaged me.”
My sister also liked to meddle in things. Our parents were going to have their hands full with that one for sure. God help the poor schmuck who fell in love with her.
“Will you be disturbing me every time someone messages you?”
“No.”
“Thank fuck,” I muttered, my fingers flying across the keyboard, but I knew it was no use. This was yet another dead end. Maxim Baldwin must have either deleted surveillance footage and further records of that night, or he was telling the truth that he didn’t have anything.
When my sister remained quiet, I couldn’t resist asking, “So what did Skye have to say?”
Marietta sat upright and all but rubbed her hands together like a cartoon villain. “She said she’s going to find herself a boyfriend.”
No, she fucking won’t .
The idea of Skye in a relationship left a weird taste in my mouth. In fact, it made me want to set this world on fire, but I wasn’t about to let my sister in on that piece of information.
The bottom line was that none of these feelings mattered, because I would do right by her.
Even if it killed me.
It was the best thing for Skye. There was also the fact that Skye’s papa was protective and overbearing as fuck and he hated Russians. And then there was Uncle Sasha… yeah, he was no better, except for the Russian part, obviously.
“I told her I’ll help her,” my sister drawled. “I made a list of potential candidates. Want to know their names?”
“Listen carefully, Marietta. If you give me those names, I’ll hunt down every one and kill them.” She grinned, unbothered by my threat. “Give those names to Skye, and I’ll consider locking you in your bedroom with only off-brand sweatshirts and sweatpants to wear.”
She chuckled. “Okay, okay. I get the point. Want to know a secret?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Sure, why not.”
“Uncle Sasha is going to Italy. He doesn’t know it yet, but a marriage arrangement proposition will be brought up to him and Dante Leone.”
I leaned forward, propping my elbows on Father’s desk. “Where in the hell did you hear that?”
“Don’t worry about that. All that matters is it’s happening, and soon.”
Marietta had her sneaky ways—mostly by eavesdropping—but she was right; it didn’t matter. The bottom line was that Skye was about to be married off, and I had to do something about it.